


Allá, En San Francisco

by AnotherHomosexualMale



Category: Coco (2017), Inside Out (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cheating, Closeted Character, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Married Characters, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherHomosexualMale/pseuds/AnotherHomosexualMale
Summary: “Are you,” Enrique starts, but he can’t settle on what to say next. He shuts his eyes and takes a calming breath. “What do you want?”Bill wraps his hand around the back of Enrique’s head, feeling the hair there, and talking just loud enough for Enrique to understand. “I want to go back to a room hotel with you, if you’re up for it,” he says, rocking against Enrique, scratching him gently. Enrique parts his lips and nods.
Relationships: Bill Andersen | Riley Andersen's Father/Enrique Rivera
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Allá, En San Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> Both dads are HOT AF.

When Enrique Rivera is forty-two, and he receives a call from his cousin in San Francisco, telling him that one of his great-grandfathers, a beloved uncle of his mother, has passed away, and that he needs to be present for the reading of the will, he decides to finally test the waters. He wrestles with the idea of it for forever, going back and forth over the pros and cons every night. When helping his wife to carry vegetables at the market, changing dirty diapers, or fixing Miguel’s broken shoe for the fifth time in a month, his mind starts to remember those old fantasies from his youth. He thinks he could keep the thoughts and urges choked down. Smother them like he always had, and live a normal life in the small town that saw him being born, surrounded by his loving family, and his life-long friends. Even while he feeds himself that delusion, he knows there’s only so much longer he can keep it up. Really, he’s restless and ready for answers.

He spent all of high school confused, and a small town in Mexico isn’t exactly the most open-minded place to pursue a fantasy so dirty and shameful. Not with two loud kids, an overbearing mother like Elena, and a loving wife that he would never even dare to cause any harm. But sometimes at night, when Luisa would fall asleep next to him on the couch, exhausted after a long day of hard-work, he would glance at some of the TV shows from USA that Miguel would be watching while practicing with his guitar, and he would soon realize that maybe (just maybe) he would be able to search for that part of himself in a place where absolutely no one would know him. A place where people wouldn’t talk in whispers behind his back, and point at him with disgust; maybe even murder him, and then bury his wife and kids in eternal shame, like it would definitely happen at Santa Cecilia.

He tells his family that he would be travelling to the US to meet with his cousins, just for a few days, and in the name of the whole Rivera clan living in Mexico, since it would be insane to get the whole family passports and visas, not to mention the cost of the plane tickets, plus the hotel rooms accommodations.

And so, after a small argument with his mother, a peck on the lips from his wife, hugs from the rest of his family, and two sticky kisses from his children, he takes a cab to the nearest city, then a bus to Mexico City, and then, he heads directly to the international airport. Hours later, after the immigration guards check his documents for almost half an hour, they finally allow him to board the plane. It’s already dark when he arrives in San Francisco, and so he tries to get a cab using his broken English while blushing in embarrassment, when he realizes that the driver speaks Spanish too. He smiles shyly to himself as the driver laughs.

The next day, when he finally steps out from the funeral home, where he met with a family that he hadn’t seen since he was a kid, and with nephews that acted more American than Mexican, he looks at the street illuminated by the lights. A bright street located in the USA. A place where nobody knows who he is. And that’s when he stops debating with himself and goes out to pursue... something.

It’s not hard, not at all, to find the type of club he wants. He says goodbye to his cousin and his wife, and after only two minutes of walking, he looks at a rainbow flag hovering over a small glass door. Enrique wore only a simple black suit, and he’s shivering with excitement as he takes off his wedding ring, and by the time he enters the establishment, he can’t tell if it’s the cold or the nerves. Either way, the bouncer opens the door for him. The club lights bleed out from the inside, making little blue patterns on the pavement. He can’t turn back now and laugh the whole thing off later. He steps into the building and away from the safety net that he’s spent years wrapped up in.

He gets a wolf-whistle almost as soon as he’s through the door. Head ducked self-consciously, Enrique heads for the bar, digging for his wallet as soon as he’s found an empty chair. He’s more than a little aware of the eyes on his back.

“Oh, no. Let me get that for you.” He looks out of the corner of his eye to see who’s touching him, It’s a man with brown hair (though Enrique can’t really tell, not with the colored lights) and a manly moustache, long fingers. He seems to be about the same age as him. And Enrique manages to think, ‘ _Que gringo tan guapo..._ ’ Then he presses his lips together and looks back down.

He hunches over a little, lets his hands drop into his lap. He’s not really sure what to say. It’s not every day that men offer to buy him drinks, and he’s new to this. To the gay thing. He smiles with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth.

Luckily, the guy helps him out, taking the stool next to him and calling the bartender over before he says anything. “What are you drinking?” he asks, louder to be heard above the music and all the other noises. Enrique is surprised by how normal the atmosphere is. He swivels in his chair.

“Just a beer,” he says, trying with his best English but failing miserably at just those three short words. He clears his throat. But the other guy doesn’t seem unfazed about his deep Hispanic accent. Enrique thinks that it might have something to do with the amount of Latinos living in San Francisco. When the bartender comes by, the man holds up his fingers for two beers and orders in a steady voice. Enrique feels brave enough to make eye contact. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. You looked like you could use it.” He slides two bills across the countertop when the beers are dropped off between them, cold enough that steam is rising up out of the rim. Enrique waits for the guy to grab one before taking his own and he takes a sip with his eyes on his companion’s throat and his mouth. He licks his lip.

Still guarded, he sits for a second wondering what to say. The club music is loud, loud, loud. “I didn’t realize I was so obvious.”

“You’re not, I’m just observant.” Handsome Guy is leaning closer and Enrique panics a little. He never expected to get this far. He knows he should have, but it had taken enough persuading and preparation just to get him here in the first place.

“Observant, eh?” He says it almost to himself. Louder, he makes an introduction. “Well, hello, observant, I’m Enrique.”

He can’t believe the guy actually laughs. “Bill,” he says, polishing off his alcohol. He’s really handsome. Enrique likes his name and his laugh. He smiles and says “Hello, Bill.”

“Would you like to dance, Enrique?”

“With you?” He’s a little thrown off by the request, and not to mention nervous- the closest he ever got to dancing with a man was as a joke at a Santa Cecilia kermés when he was in High School. A joke that had made his heart leap.

“Who else?” Bill offers up a hand. Enrique takes it after a beat of silence, standing up and letting the bar stool pivot behind him. He lets Bill lead him onto the floor where there’s a mess of dancers, just men, touching each other and just barely on beat with the music. The nerves are back full-force. He wishes he would have had more to drink. Apparently, Bill notices, because he leans in to whisper encouragement into Enrique’s ear. “Relax, it’ll be fun.” If anyone can fake a bravado, it’s Enrique. He nods and sways with the song, turning until his back is flush against Bill’s chest and his heart is pounding in his ears. Grinding against a man feels just like he thought it would. When he swings his hips around, he’s painfully aware of whatever Bill is packing in his pants. There’s no way he could miss it. It’s weird and unfamiliar, but he likes it, chases after it when the song changes.

Bill is almost exactly the same height as him. His head rests against Enrique’s while they’re dancing, his thick moustache and short beard hairs just barely touching Enrique’s neck. Enrique loses track of when, exactly, because all the songs sound the same after a while, but after they’ve been dancing for about four of them, Bill puts his left hand on Enrique’s hip and pulls him closer. It seems like it should be impossible that these two men are pressed so tight together.

He remembers why he’s here, and rests his hand on top of Bill’s, matching their fingers up. He lifts his free arm up and rests it uncomfortably around his dance partner’s neck. Slides it down his shoulder. Bill responds by touching Enrique’s stomach, his fingertips crawling down lower until they’re touching the buckle on his belt. Enrique sighs out and it’s lost in the rest of the noise. He can feel everything. Every inch of both of them. He thinks Bill is hard, hard and rubbing against him, but he’s never felt anything like it so he’s not sure. The thought sends his pulse all out of synch. Quick and clumsy, he turns around in Bill’s arms so that they’re face to face, and Enrique bites his lip.

“Are you,” Enrique starts, but he can’t settle on what to say next. He touches Bill’s biceps, running his fingers over the subtle muscles he’s got. Sometimes when his shirt rides up he can feel a zipper on his skin. He shuts his eyes and takes a calming breath. “What do you want?” he asks, grinding in slow, long movements against Bill’s thigh. It feels good, and Enrique kinda wishes it didn’t. Part of him is clinging tight to the hope that this is all just curiosity and excitement of being in a whole new country all by himself. That part quiets down as soon as Bill presses their cocks together through all the layers of pants and boxers. He lowers his eyelids.

Bill wraps his hand around the back of Enrique’s head, feeling the hair there, and talking just loud enough for Enrique to understand. “I want to go back to a room hotel with you, if you’re up for it,” he says, rocking against Enrique, scratching him gently. Enrique parts his lips and nods.

Maybe it’s against his better judgement. “Yeah,” he breathes. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the fallout. Bill slides a hand into Enrique’s back pocket and orients him towards the door. Enrique is glad that he walked to the club, because he doesn’t have to worry about a car or anything. The list of anxieties is piling up pretty high but at least he doesn’t have to add that to it. He just follows Bill to where his car is and climbs into the passenger seat, still uncomfortably warm and turned on.

When Bill gets his key in the ignition, his eyes turn around at the back seat, and he notices a glimpse of the color pink behind the driver’s seat. A small bracelet, with a smiling cartoon flower is laying there. And then Bill notices Enrique staring at the back.

“I- I have a daughter.” He starts, almost nervously, and Enrique’s eyes immediately go to his hand resting over the steering wheel. And he notices the tanning mark of a missing wedding ring. Just like his.

Bill notices this too, and he blushes. “I do ha-have a wife, but we- don’t worry, it’s not like I’m taking you to my house. I hope this-“

“It’s ok.” Enrique says. “I’m married, too.” He raises his own hand, showing a ring of untanned skin on his finger, and tries to smile. “I can’t judge.”

Bill smiles at him too, and then he leans forward to kiss his neck passionately, tasting Enrique with his tongue. His moustache is caressing roughly his brown skin as Enrique lets out a loud moan, and then feels his erection to grow even more. “It’s ok. As long as they don’t know, it’s ok...” Bill murmurs after a few seconds.

The engine turns over and then they’re left quiet, the air buzzing between them. Enrique plays with the other man’s shirt, trying to distract himself from his own painful erection. “You’re- do you hang out there a lot?” he asks Bill.

“Enough to recognize the new guys,” Bill replies. He turns the wheel smoothly and Enrique can’t keep his eyes off his hands. “But I just moved to San Francisco with my family last year. There’s a hotel up here, after this turn.”

Enrique nods, though Bill probably isn’t paying attention. They both know it was his first time. He doesn’t have to say it again. He doesn’t want to be quiet though, the lack of sound makes him think hard about what he’s about to do. “I’ve never, um. I’ve never really done this before,” he says, just as Bill is parking.

He doesn’t get a reply until they’re both out of the car and Bill is letting him into his room. It’s nice. “Have you done anything? With a man?” He’s standing close but it’s a different kind of close than the club. Even with his hands on Enrique, touching his chest and shoulders, it’s not the same. Enrique stands awkwardly.

“Not really,” he says, voice pitching up when Bill palms his dick over his clothes.

“Not really?”

“No.” He swallows. “Not at all.”

Bill plays with his belt. “You’ve never kissed a man before?” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Enrique’s throat closes around his answer.

“No. But I want to,” he whispers. He’s a forty-two year old married man from a small town in Mexico, touching and caressing another married man in a foreign country, and he has never felt more vulnerable.

Bill tilts his head. He leans in like he’s going to kiss Enrique, their moustaches almost touching. “I guess it’s lucky you met me tonight,” he replies, and then closes the space. Enrique’s skin heats up. It feels like it’s searing everywhere that Bill puts his hands. Bill kisses like he really wants to, like Enrique is the best thing in the world, and Enrique sighs into it happily because he is not used to being desired. Eyes shut, he kisses Bill back in what he hopes is the same way. Before he realizes he’s grabbing Bill’s rough hand and moving it to his own pants so that he can feel how much he’s into this. Bill detaches from his lips to kiss his neck again, and then he’s stepping away, motioning for Enrique to follow him. Enrique shuffles behind him breathing hard. He’s lead next to the bed, where Bill is sitting near the headboard.

“I like this Hotel,” he says dumbly. Bill just laughs.

“Come sit.”

Enrique takes the spot on the bed next to him, twisting his fingers in the blankets. “Enrique, do you want to get fucked?”

It makes him a little squeamish, the open way Bill talks about sex. Enrique’s never said anything like this out loud. He’s never heard anything like it either, except for teenage boys in Santa Cecilia making fun of _maricones_ and what they did to each other. He averts his eyes and mumbles. “I do.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Bill says, quietly. The mattress dips when he comes to sit in front of Enrique, kneeling in front of him and crawling up close. He touches Enrique’s cheek. “Look at me. You want it?”

“Really, I do. Real bad.” He rubs his cheek against Bill’s hand. Attempting a grin, he meets Bill’s eyes like he asked.

“How?”

Bill finally, finally gets to pulling off Enrique’s jeans, tugging the belt away and letting it fall against the floor. He gets the pants halfway down his thighs before giving up. Enrique feels embarrassed but the feeling is replaced by Bill touching his dick under his boxers, just grazing with his long fingers. “Like this, I guess,” he manages, gasping under his breath. “I’ll take these off and you can fu- we can do it right here.” Bill agrees by leaning back, giving Enrique the space to undress, which he does hastily. His shirt comes up over his head easily. When he’s done, he leans back feeling horribly naked- which he is, but this is more… emotional. He buries his face in his shoulder, noticing the beautiful contrast between their skin tones.

“We can stop if you want.” A quick peek at Bill tells him that they’re both stripped down, which makes him feel better. He looks between his legs. Bill has an average dick, Enrique thinks. He doesn’t know much about these things, but what really captures his eye, is how Bill’s dick is cut. White, and pink, and cut. Enrique’s own dick twitches with arousal. The sight gets him excited, or nervous again, or both. He had never seen a cut dick before.

He shakes his head firmly. “No, no.” He reaches out, takes Bill by the shoulders. Kisses him hard. “Please. Fuck me,” he whimpers with his thick accent, clutching him tight.

Bill kisses him back and nods. “Yeah. I’ll make it good.” He has lube- Enrique isn’t sure where it came from. When Bill touches him down there, prodding around until he finds what he’s looking for, it’s freezing cold and uncomfortably tight. Enrique keeps his hold on one of Bill’ arms for leverage. He’s tense for a bit, but Bill is gentle and he rubs Enrique’s leaking cock with his free hand, and even if getting fingered isn’t doing much for him, Enrique can’t help but moan at that.

“How does that feel?” Bill kisses his neck. Enrique scratches him a little, though his nails are cut pretty short.

“Good.” He’s short of breath and feeling guilty. He strokes Bill’s hair and lips absently.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

Enrique knits his brow. _‘¿Y yo cómo voy a saber?’_ he wants to ask, because he’s clueless about this. So lost. He nods, though. It feels like it’s been an eternity since Bill started. “I know I am,” he bluffs, props himself up on his elbows. He watches- feels- Bill pull his fingers out and palm himself, rub himself down with more lube, and then brace his cold, slick fingers on Enrique’s legs.

“I’ll make it good,” Bill repeats. No, Enrique thinks briefly, make it so bad I won’t want to try again. Make it hurt. He thinks if it’s bad enough, he can tell himself it’s because he’s not gay. He doesn’t like it because he’s not gay.

None of that thought process stops him from gasping out when Bill is inside him, though he thinks that’s because Bill is jerking him off again. At first his dick doesn’t feel like much of anything. An intrusion, yeah, and a big one, but he’s been stretched out enough that it doesn’t hurt. He lets Bill twist his fingers in his black hair and kiss him again. It’s not the best, not with Bill panting into his mouth and Enrique gasping his approval, but it’s still hot, the idea of it. He shifts, puts his arms around Bill. _“Harder,”_ he asks, wondering if that’s what will make him feel. “ _Más duro, Please…”_

Speaking Spanish seems to turn-on Bill even more, because the man kisses and bites the space where Enrique’s jaw and ear meet up, and murmurs an agreement. _“Yeah, man. You’re doing so well...”_ he says. Enrique shuts his eyes, hating the way that makes him feel, hating Bill for a split second. He winces when Bill speeds up but it’s better than before. It stings just a little, but it feels like something, and Enrique thinks there’s no way he can force himself to pretend he doesn’t want this, not when he’s moaning for it. He kisses Bill.

 _“It’s good for you?”_ he breathes against his lips, and Bill nods, dragging his fingers teasingly slow over Enrique’s brown cock. Enrique moves his hips up, desperate for more. He gets it now. Every part of his body is burning up, especially where Bill is pressed against him, close like they had been when they were dancing. He lets go of Bill and collapses back on the bed, knees bent and spread open.

Bill leans over him with his palms on either side of Enrique’s neck. He dips his head and bites his lip. _“I’m your first, huh,”_ he says, so quietly that it barely registers with Enrique. He laughs a little. Yeah, Bill is his first. _“You alright?”_ He sits back up, goes back to teasing with one hand. He touches his hip with the other.

_“Fine.”_

_“Just fine?”_ The friction on his cock speeds up.

 _“No, better.”_ He looks up at Bill over him. _“I really like it. Ah, Bill… Puta madre…”_

He comes almost without warning, just a shiver and a heavy sigh. Bill takes it in stride. He’s got sticky fingers now. Enrique can feel it too, all over his stomach. It feels- it’s like when he comes after getting himself off, but more. It’s not the best orgasm but it still leaves him fulfilled. He couldn’t explain it. He notices that Bill has pulled out. “Can you get off?” he asks, worriedly. “Do you want me to-?”

“Just relax. You did great.” Despite that instruction, Enrique gets to his knees and bravely touches Bill’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it and stroking fast so he could finish soon. Bill puts his head on Enrique’s shoulder and moans, quiet and calm, until he comes into Enrique’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, kissing Enrique again. “You’re amazing.”

Enrique’s stomach lurches because he loves the praise and the afterglow. This is not how it was supposed to be. He liked getting Bill off. He liked Bill inside of him. He knows he isn’t supposed to like any of it, but even the mounting guilt is drowned out by how nice he feels. He kisses Bill back, and Bill breaks away from him laughing.

“Let me get you a towel,” he says. “Pajamas, too.”

“You- you want me to stay?”

“I’m not gonna kick you out in the middle of the night.” Bill rolls his eyes and gets up.

Enrique falls asleep with Bill’s strong arms circled around his waist. His wife, and his family back in Mexico are the last thing at his mind at the moment. He’s comfortable in the arms of a handsome gringo. A married gringo who touched him in places where he had never been touched by any other person. His last thought is, maybe he could be okay with this. He doesn’t have to go back to Santa Cecilia until the day after tomorrow. Maybe this could be his normal, even back at home.

* * *

THE END


End file.
